


Winter's First Soft Touches

by moonazine



Category: Curse of Strahd - Fandom, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Curse of Strahd, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Post-Campaign, Romantic Fluff, cottage, dnd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonazine/pseuds/moonazine
Summary: After freeing Barovia from Strahds evil clutches, Ismark decided to travel to Draíochtbail, Velika's homeland, with her.He alternated between aiding his half-sister back at the Village of Barovia and staying with his now fiancé, helping her recover after the mild surgery that had to be done on her stomach to heal the damage.One evening during the first nights of Winter, he returned back to their cozy cottage on the outskirts of the city, to find his beloved asleep on the couch. The calm, peaceful expression that she wore had grown rare as of late, and he intended to admire it for as long as he could.
Relationships: Ismark Kolyanovich/Original D&D Female Character, Ismark Kolyanovich/Velika Oraculum, Ismark/Velika, issika
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	Winter's First Soft Touches

The fire blazed, wet wood crackling as it caught alight. The small sparks leapt from their confinement only to fizzle out the moment they touched the wooden floor. The heat provided warmth to the house, a grateful respite to the beginning chills of Winter. The Solstice hadn’t even passed, and yet the frost had enough nip to freeze your eyelashes.

The orange hues cast by the fire draped a rusty blanket over the fur of the black cat that groomed itself in front of the flames, poised upon a plump cushion like the regent it was. It ran its barbed tongue along the fur of its paw, before raising it and rubbing it against its ears.

A dull thud of boots hit against the outside walls, and a hand grasped the doorknob. The handle twisted and the door swung open, and a cold rush of arctic air filled the room, much to the distaste of the dark feline by the fireplace.

“Morning _Lord_ , it’s cold out there,” The nasally words were followed by a shaky sigh.

The door closed behind him, followed by a metallic click of the lock. Ismark’s footsteps granted an extra ambience to the quiet cottage as he crossed the room, grunting as he hoisted up the damp logs in his hands and deposited them into the bucket at the side of the fireplace.

“Sorry, cat,” He mumbled, stepping over the cat which glared at him with yellow-green eyes. How dare he disturb her comfort with his clumsy feet.

“You’re very quiet, my dear,” He said, dipping his hands into the wash basin of lukewarm water and rubbing the grime off of his fingers. “You alright? I half expected you to- Ah. You’re asleep.”

She lay curled up on the couch beneath a pale blue woolen blanket, knitted for her by one of the elder women as a welcoming gift. Part of her white hair was strewn carelessly over her face, the rest hung off of the side of the couch. One arm was held at the side of her face, and the other lolled toward the ground, haphazardly holding a book which was all too close to slipping out of her grasp.

He grinned, tiptoeing across the room to her. He shimmied himself onto the arm of the couch and gently ran his hand along her smooth skin, feeling the little lines of marks that were barely visible. As though she knew, she faintly smiled, turning her head further toward his hand.

“Sleepy head,” He teased, doubting she would even hear it. “Couldn’t stay awake for long enough, hm? I suppose that’s what you get for running around the city, doing errand after errand…”

A loud thump echoed around the room, causing both him and the cat to jump. The yellow-white pages of her book lay flat against the ground, the navy and gold lined cover of the book faced the air.

A drawing of a dragon and an elf, illustrated in beautiful gold knots and lines littered the cover. The title, ‘Night of the Draak’, was written in glittering golden letters on the front. Fitting, he thought, that a dragon rider would read fiction about another dragon rider. He stretched over her, picking the book up from the ground and passing his hand along it.

It was textured, not the most pleasant feeling in the world, and was still warm from where she held it. The pages smelled fresh, a musky scent, like that of a fading perfume, that was slowly transitioning into her scent; of the faintest rose and autumn spices. Perhaps his favourite scent in the world.

She had already made the book her own during the brief time she had had it, with dog ears folded across some pages, tiny splatters of tea that were vaguely smudged from a desperate act of trying to clean it away, and the occasional outlines beneath quotes and phrases that she had found pleasant.

He thumbed through the pages to one still dog eared, though lazily. Only half folded and the corner scrunched against the opposite page, done in caution of falling asleep. His eyes drifted down the page, squinting to make out some of the foreign Elven words, alas to no avail. He was about to put the book down again, when the light of the fire caught the tail end of a thin indent. Tilting it further into the light, words began to form, etched in with a very thin nib. Words in Common. Many words were misspelled, some missing a letter, but it was unmistakably her handwriting.

_‘Galathea gazed up at his dragon companion, and lifting his hand up to it’s scarred cheek, he said; “Once, I was scared of heights. The toiling sea that thrashed beneath me terrified me to no end. But when I am with you, the finest fliers of your kind, I feel at peace.”’_

A line was pushed into the page and he followed it. It was written in Elven script, but he knew enough from his time in Draíochtbail to know what it meant; _‘Ismark?’_

His lips grew taut, his eyes frantically darting back over the pages, tilting it left and right to try and find more hidden words- But nothing. Whatever connection, other than his discomfort with heights, that he may have had with this Galathea- he did not know.

With a disappointed sigh, he closed over the book and slid it onto the dark oak table that rested beside them. He straightened back up and returned his attention to the little elf that had now, somehow, edged further toward him in her slumber.

He slid one hand beneath the blanket and behind her knees, and the other behind her back, hooking his palms around her to keep her secure. He hoisted her up with only a quick suck of breath, and held her close to his chest.

“Bedtime, Alley Cat,” He said, casting a glance toward the cat- who was no longer on her cushion. A black blur darted past him, and listening to the pitter-patter of paws against the wooden stairs, he knew he had gotten the message across. 

He, too, made his way toward the stairs, careful to make sure his beloved did not slip from his grasp. With balanced steps, he made his way up to the landing. He passed a room as he went by- The door opened, but the interior was left untouched. A singular bed lay within, meticulously kept. The entire room was clean. It’s inhabitant had never made it to his new home.

Thankfully, the door to the master bedroom had also been left open. Velika had insisted on this, stating in an all too serious tone that; _“Alley Cat needs access to the bed, too. And she can’t open doors.”_

He pushed his way into the dim room, the only light being that which came from downstairs. It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough. Enough, at least, to make out the more prominent details. The bookshelf along the wall, the little chest in the corner, the mirror covered by a thin sheet, the wardrobe pressed up against the corner, and the double bed against the centre of the back wall.

He shuffled over toward the bed, and hoisting up his knee, he pushed back the comfortable covers. With a grunt, he leaned forward again, laying the fair sleeping maiden upon the soft bed and propping himself up with the knee.

He slowly slid his hands back out from underneath her and pulled the soft covers up over her- First, a thinner sheet that was very kind to one's skin, and then a thicker one to keep the warmth. He patted the sheets down, and on her right side, gently pushed it in against her back to keep her nice and snug.

He then stepped back and crossed over to the chest in the corner. With slow hands, he opened it, careful not to make a sound. He grasped the bottom of his thicker shirt and lifted it over his head, following suit with the thinner vest he wore beneath it to stave off the cold. His trousers came next, quickly shirked off and placed on the right side of the chest where he kept the clothing that needed to be washed. 

The floor was cold beneath his now bare feet, biting and clawing at his bones. He hated how chilly it was, and dreaded the notion that it would only get colder in this arctic land as Winter continued to roll in with it’s blizzards. Getting snowed in inside the cottage with her, though, he enjoyed the idea of.

On the tip of his toes, he hastily made his way over to the left of the bed and pulled back the covers on his side. The mattress was dark, and it’s malicious eyes stared back at him. And yawned. And stretched out it’s little, fluffy black paws. And _mrrowed_ in protest as he picked it up and plopped the furry ball down at the end of the bed.

He slid beneath the covers, pulling them up around his shoulders and making sure they were perfectly around hers, too. Her pale white eyelashes fluttered at the movement, and her eyes cracked open, a glowing crystalline blue staring right at him. She smiled, and so did he.

“Go back to sleep,” He murmured, reaching forward and cupping her cheek with his hand. She moved her face further into his touch, tilting her head and pressing her lips against his fingers.

“When did you come back?” She asked, her small hand sliding up from under the covers and coming to a stop in between his fingers and her face, and holding on to his calloused hand. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Only a few minutes ago,” He said. “You were asleep, so I carried you up here. Sleeping on a couch isn’t good for your stomach, you know… It’s still healing.”

“I was tired,” Her right hand joined her left and pulled his hand down, holding it close to her chest. “I didn’t plan on falling asleep… But I suppose it just happened.”

“I know,” He hooked his arm around her back and pulled her in, resting his chin on top of her head. “I know…”

Silence engulfed them, the only sounds being the faint idle purr of Alley Cat, the floorboards creaking and settling, and the rhythmic thumps of his beating heart. She freed his hand after a few moments, but quickly found his shoulders as a new place to hold.

“Ismark?”

“Mm..?”

“I love you.”

His soft chuckle was melodious, the trigger to the wide grin that bloomed across her face. He hummed three syllables in response and pulled himself back, pushing some of her hair from her face and running his thumb along her cheek, curling around and letting his hand rest beneath her chin.

He tilted her head up with a small pull and leaned closer. Her eyes closed automatically, and her fingers splayed out against his back. His lips pressed against hers, hers soft and supple, his chapped from the cold weather. 

Her lips tasted sweet, like the ripe huckleberries that he plucked from wild bushes toward the ends of Summer. Her touch and taste was electrifying, addicting, and no matter how many times he kissed her, he could never get bored of it. Her charm was like a breath of fresh air, and one that he welcomed gladly.

He moved backward after a minute or two, when his lungs begged for air. On any other day, he had no doubt that they would play their usual game and see who could last the longest without needing to tap out to breathe, but not tonight. Tonight was too tender.

“I love you too,” He finally said aloud, pulling her back into his tight embrace. “And I will never stop loving you.”

“Neither will I, _Duan-Teamh_ ,” She whispered. “Neither will I…”

The slack of her hands against his shoulders were enough to tell him that she had drifted off. He curled himself around her, holding her close against him. He had no doubt that she would awaken again during the night in a panic when her nightmares inevitably plagued her, but when they did, he would be there.

He always would.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this was originally written to be part of 'oc kiss week' on tumblr, but my gods it was late. but, late or no, it still deserved to be written!  
> there might be spelling mistakes- it's hard to catch all of them, even with the lovely beta reader that i had (you know who you are- you're a gift on earth)- so i'll edit them as i come across them!


End file.
